


fire and powder

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Slytherin Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 08:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17505161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: There are rumors a new student is transferring to Hogwarts halfway through the year.You're the talk of the school before you've even arrived, but that's only the beginning.





	fire and powder

It’s a cloudy and overcast morning when rumors of a potential new student begin to circulate. Excitement about new students wasn’t out of the ordinary, but there was, ordinarily, a time and place for it. That is to say, at the start of each term, when the Great Hall is buzzing with anticipation and each house’s table has several seats open and waiting for its newest members. By the middle of the year, everyone is settled and integrated, and life continues on as normal. But the circumstances of this hearsay, which quickly finds its footing when a student gets it confirmed by a professor and proceeds to tell his friends, who then tell theirs, and so on and so forth, aren’t ordinary at all. The person in question is a transfer, and will be joining Hogwarts halfway through the year. An interruption to the routine and some might even say the bland, for it can only be expected that life would become a little dry as the studies and exams dragged on. One supposes, then, that it’s no wonder word spreads like a fire so wild that the rains just now beginning to pour could do precious little to quell it.

No one actually know when the new student will be arriving, only that they will, in time. Dumbledore doesn’t address it but everyone already knows that he knows that they know. One evening before dinner he grabs their attention to make some announcements, and silence fills the hall almost immediately. There’s a twinkle in his eye like he’s about to mention the topic they’ve all been achingly curious about, but he never does, instead reminding them about their approaching mid-term tests. A collective sigh of frustration at being left in the dark sweeps through the room.

By the time they learn anything more, their newest classmate is already there. Enough time had passed that most had calmed down and forgot about it, and as such, the creaking of the large doors granting entrance to the castle during dinner, able to be heard even over the chatter and clanking of silverware, catches everyone by surprise. Heads lean to get a better view of the threshold where you stand with Dumbledore and McGonagall. You’re pulling along a trunk as they lead you along. What they say to you can’t be heard, but it’s no doubt a quick orientation about your new school. They lead you down the corridor, and you disappear from sight. It’s the last they see of you for the remainder of the night.

The atmosphere is more relaxed when midterms are over, and the Great Hall is slow to fill in the mornings as some students choose to sleep in. You’ve not had any exams, but you do linger in your own dormitory, still tired from your long day of travel the day before. As such, when you finally come down for breakfast, the hall is mostly filled. In contrast to dinner, the talk is calmer and quieter, evidence of fatigue and a general sense of relief that all the tests are done (until finals anyway, but that was a different story, and a far one yet). It lowers to a hush when you turn into the room.

You were sorted in Dumbledore’s office, and by that point, the only ones to know where the Sorting Hat had placed you besides the professors were the rest of your house, since they would’ve met you when you came through the portrait hole. Now, as you walk in, everyone can see for themselves, and the light of day filtering in makes it nigh impossible to mistake the silver serpent on your cloak for anything but. All at once the small billow of the edges of your robes kicked up by the breeze of your purposeful steps seems sinister, and the sway of your ponytail seems to spell trouble.

The four houses and the attitudes of their members aren’t often so black and white. Most students find themselves in the middle, teetering between two, and the slightly stronger inclination wins out in the end. It’s not always obvious at first glance to which house a person belongs, and it’s merely the insignia on their chest and the colored lining of their cloak that give it away. Sometimes there are Gryffindors who appear to be the farthest thing from brave until the right moment strikes. Sometimes there are Slytherins not nearly as mean as one is led to believe by the smirks and sneers of the majority. Some wonder where you fall, but it doesn’t last very long because soon the Slytherin Prince harbors a newfound interest in you, and you’re happy to be the center of his attention.

———

Draco and his cronies are giving a Hufflepuff a hard time out in the courtyard, and what he’s saying can’t be heard at this distance, but it certainly isn’t bound to be anything nice. Apparently you can hear it though, given you’re not as far, and what’s surely a scathing remark makes you giggle. Draco smirks at you and looks rather proud. The fact he likes making you laugh would almost be sweet if he weren’t doing it using such cruel methods. Maybe it was truly a match made in the less savory of places, because the student body has heard of your fair share of pestering and bullying of anyone unfortunate enough to land in your sights.

Ron’s eyes narrow as he studies the pair of you, and sighs when you return to speaking with your friends. “You know, I heard she was nearly put in Ravenclaw.”

“Yeah?” Harry, thankful for the distraction, for he’d been in desperate need of a break from his homework, looks from his book to his friend.

“Yeah.” Ron lets out a little laugh of disbelief. He’s trying to imagine you in Ravenclaw instead, but he’s not very successful. His mind can’t seem to reconcile the idea of you in a house that isn’t Slytherin. “I dunno how though.”

Hermione, who had for the most part remained uninvested in your journey of integration into Hogwarts, it bearing of no importance to her when there were more pressing matters to fret over, also tears her eyes away from the study guide she’s creating. “The Sorting Hat must’ve seen something and knew she’d be better off in Slytherin. She just needed the right person to bring it out of her.”

“No better person than Malfoy,” Ron mutters under his breath with a scoff. He hadn’t done a very good job hiding his infatuation with you from his two best friends, but perhaps it makes more sense to say they were an exception. They knew him too well, and they can tell his hopes of any sort of relationship with you were slowly crumbling. (Not that there was much hope to begin with—he hasn’t even spoken to you yet… and it’s doubtful if he ever would) It’s the smarter decision to stay away anyway. Your fangs glitter in the light if you angle your head a certain way, venom dripping from the ends, and no one’s eager to be bitten.

There had indeed been substance to the rumor you were almost placed in Ravenclaw, and Ron is far from the first to be skeptical. For the most part, it’s the Slytherins who understand why you ended up with them instead, since they’ve gotten to know you better (or know you at all, really). You’re smart, and you know how to get what you want. You could do it so well it bordered on the cunning, and upon this revelation the Sorting Hat had had no trouble figuring out to which side the scales tipped more.

You have a class starting soon, so you bid goodbye to your friends and trek across the grass to return to the castle. Ron seizes up when he realizes you’re heading their way, and he’d meant to say hello but he couldn’t even get that out (good thing, probably, since it might sound choked and that would be humiliating). Your eyes meet as you walk past, but you’ve no smile to give. You were a miser when it came to them. They’re stockpiled, hidden away, and rarely did you ever share them. Every stray glance caught was merely met with lips set in a straight line—apathetic, unfriendly, and thoroughly unimpressed.

Ron’s shoulders relax after you pass, and he stares after you, hardly noticing the wind flipping the pages of his book. “That wasn’t so bad.” He doesn’t exactly know what wasn’t so bad. You’d only walked by and hadn’t said anything. Perhaps it was expected that you might make jabs not at all playful towards anyone who looked too long, like Draco is wont to do, but it seems you’re better about holding your tongue.

Harry can’t help smiling in amusement as he gets back to his work. “You looked terrified.”

Hermione laughs, and Ron blanches. “Did I really?”

———

Everyone knows Professor Snape plays favorites, and in his pool of favorites are students he favors even more still. Draco is one such student, on the list and most likely at the very top. You found a place on said list quickly. Being in Slytherin already put you in his good graces, but you climbed the ranks firstly because of your knowledge of the material, well-read and participating during class to a degree that gave Hermione Granger a run for her money, and secondly because you’re closely associated with the house prince himself.

Fleeting glances on your first few days turned into being on the same side, Draco with one of his friends and you with yours, and then into you always sitting at the same table, claiming the left one in the third row. You seemed to pay attention more to each other than the lecture most days, and at the start, Snape had (half-heartedly) interrupted you and quizzed you on what he was talking about. Of course, you always answered correctly, not that it had been too difficult a question, and after a few instances of that, he left you well alone. To be fair, you hadn’t been particularly disruptive or bothersome. (The Gryffindors on the other side of the classroom becoming irked that you were so easily let off the hook don’t count.)

The two of you are intimidating in your own respects, but together, the menace is magnified. If people hadn’t kept a safe distance before, they were now, not fond of getting burned. There’s a new title bestowed upon you that makes its rounds, and admittedly you’re one of the last to hear of it, but when you finally do, your eyes sparkle. Out in daylight, the twinkle might make you look affable. But in the low lighting of the Slytherin common room, it looks the shade of mischievous it’s meant to be.

 _It’s got a nice ring to it,_ your friend Meredith had remarked, breaking your focus on your book, which annoys you a little, but you brush it off. _Slytherin Princess._ You set your novel down and look at her with a small smirk. She seems more thrilled about it than you do, and she definitely notices. It prompts her to ask why you aren’t as excited. It’s your title after all. _Exactly,_ you’d responded. _My title. Why should I be surprised that I’ve ended up with what I deserved to begin with?_

Your new name only serves to increase jealousy in some of the other girls of your house. The feelings of envy sprouted when you and Draco took to one another like a duck takes to water, and had only grown from there. You won’t ever say that you’re hanging on his arm, and you cast sharp glances at anyone who dares to say as much, sharp enough to make them bleed. It implies you’re lesser, and that’s not the case at all. You’re equal. Draco understands that, and it’s clear that’s the way he wants it too, judging by his simper and half-lidded gaze of adoration whenever he should look at you.

A day trip to Hogsmeade sees you in the white dress with beige buttons from Twilfitt and Tattings’ newest collection. “You look good in white,” Draco comments, coming up behind you where you were waiting for him on the front steps.

“Thank you.” You smile sweetly, and in the few seconds spent staring at each other, Draco can see in your eyes the answer you almost gave instead but hadn’t, deciding to just accept his compliment. It didn’t matter in the end anyway because he could tell what your almost-response was without you having to say it: _l know I do._

He chuckles like you did in fact say it aloud, his arm wrapping around you to bring you close. Your little yelp of surprise is quickly silenced as he bends down to kiss you. It’s short, for you’re not keen on everyone watching something so intimate, and you pull away. A bit of your lipstick had transferred and the corner of his mouth is now accented with a patch of deep red, and you let out a quiet laugh as you reach up to wipe it away.

The cloak you wear for school conceals most of your finer movements, but without it now, the elegance with which you hold yourself is clearer. It’s simple to tell you’ve trained and taken classes, for it’s rare that one is born with such natural taking to refined decorum, and it must be ingrained and practiced with pinpoint precision. You’ll be honest: this is one of the aspects where you aren’t actively trying to inspire jealousy. This is just how you’ve learned to act, but if other people did get jealous, well, that’s just a bonus.

One such person makes known her vexation in the common room that evening after returning from Hogsmeade. You’re not sure if Poppy’s trying to be subtle at all while conversing with her companions, but even if she had, you still overhear. _Slytherin Princess…_ It comes out a hiss, and it’s the warning of incoming conflict that prompts you to focus on her voice amidst the others. _She might as well wear a tiara while she’s at it._

“That’s a really good idea.” You don’t hesitate to reply, voice raising so she can hear you across the room. You paused halfway to the stairs, intent on going to your room, but she was dangling such good bait and you couldn’t resist taking it because you knew you’d win, pulling in bait and hook and all into the water. “I think I will.” You follow up your remark with a grin. It’s nothing but knives.

———

You’re about to enter Professor Snape’s classroom, but a hand curling around your wrist stops you short. Twisting around, you meet the bright eyes of your boyfriend. Your own narrow in turn because you know he has something to say.

“Let’s skip Potions,” he declares.

“What?” The idea is foreign to you. You don’t skip classes, and you’d especially hate to miss Potions. It’s one of your favorite lectures.

“C’mon, we won’t be missed.”

You purse your lips, close to saying no. But his eyes are hopeful and it’s actually a little endearing. You’re wondering what brought on the suggestion, and it’s this curiosity that finally causes you to acquiesce. “Okay.”

Draco’s hand slides from your wrist to your hand, and he curls his fingers in the spaces between yours before he pulls you along, the throng of students on their way to class parting smoothly. You can read the eagerness in his body language, and you smile. What does he have in mind?

“Where are we going?” you inquire, for he seems to be walking with purpose and you can’t begin to guess where he’s bringing you. The common room is in the other direction, and you assume he wants to go outside (it’s a nice day), but you go right by a door leading to the courtyard.

He doesn’t answer right away, and he turns a corner, opening a door to a room you can’t see from this angle. One strong tug from him causes you to stumble forward, and you collide with him, the door quickly sliding shut behind you. It’s a broom closet. “The broom closet? But why—”

You don’t get the rest of the sentence out before he’s on you, lips searing and sure to leave scorch marks on the tender skin of your own. It takes a moment for your shock to wear off but then you’re meeting his enthusiasm in equal measure, arms wrapping around his neck and standing on the tips of your toes for better reach. His arms snake around your waist, mouth departing from your lips to trail down to your neck. The forceful movements knock you slightly off balance and you fall back to the shelf behind you, rattling the supplies on it. You giggle and can feel Draco’s grin against your skin. Your laugh turns into a gasp as he nips at a sensitive spot.

When he pulls away and stands at his full height and you have to tilt your head back to look at him properly, your eyes are hazy, and you know that’s why he’s smirking so widely. He then gives you the answer to your previous question. “I need a bit of good luck for today’s match.”

Oh, that’s right. Slytherin is playing Ravenclaw today. You smile and shake your head playfully. That’s not the actual reason for his hiding away in a broom closet with you, because he hadn’t ever done this prior to a game. The typical form of good luck you gave was a kiss before he left you to join his teammates in the locker room. This was just his excuse, but you can’t say you mind. “Good luck, huh?”

“Yeah.” Draco’s gaze is impish and he kisses you a few times, your lips already starting to swell, a picture of disarray coupled with your cloudy eyes and messy hair from where he’d tangled his fingers in it. “You’ll cheer me on from the stands won’t you?” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours.

You hum in confirmation. “Of course.” You let out a little shriek of surprise when his cold hand sneaks beneath your shirt and you cover your mouth, wondering if anyone heard you. Draco laughs, and it’s not long until you join him. However, it does seem someone had heard, because there are hasty footsteps echoing in the hallway outside.

Draco voices who it is at the same moment you also realize who it could be. “Filch.”

He takes your hand again and opens the door with the other, and the two of you run out and farther down the corridor. You glance back over your shoulder to see Filch. He’s looking toward the broom closet door which has closed with a thud, then looks to your and Draco’s retreating forms, putting the pieces together quickly. He scowls, clearly displeased, but all it does is elicit a laugh as you turn the corner. Mrs. Norris is perched on a window sill you rush past, and her lamp-like eyes follow you until you’re out of sight.

This route is beginning to look familiar; Draco is bringing you to the Slytherin dormitories. No doubt to finish the business that had been so rudely interrupted. Your suspicions are proven right when he brings you up the stairs and you take a hard turn into the boys’ side, marching straight to his room.

Slytherin wins the match. It’s a landslide victory.

———

The morning of the day you’ll all be loading up onto the Hogwarts Express to start your summer holidays is spent bringing down the trunks from the rooms and putting them onto the train. Once back in London, you wouldn’t be returning home right away. Your parents had given you permission to spend some time at Malfoy Manor (Draco tells you his parents are looking forward to meeting you). The last half of the summer is when you would go back to France, to spend the remaining weeks with your mother and father.

“D’you think they’ll move closer?” Draco asks as you step onto the train.

You shrug. “They’re probably considering it. There’s not much of a reason to stay in France anymore now that I’ve transferred here.”

You were one of the last to board, so most of the cabins are occupied. But neither of you is worried about finding a place. Your friends are bound to have saved spots, or if you wanted a cabin to yourselves, it wouldn’t be a problem kicking out whoever’s in there. Just because the term is over doesn’t mean people are any less intimidated. It’s a power, you’re sure, you’ll be high on over the holidays, and it’s a high that would last just long enough to make it to next year, where you’d have another several months to ensure no one would forget that little title of yours.

Speaking of which…

It’s incredibly good timing that there’s someone in the cabin you’re walking by that you want to talk to, and you slow to a stop. Draco only notices when your linked hands keep him from continuing farther down the aisle. He turns to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “I’ll find you, just give me a second.” You tip toe to kiss him, and his hesitation melts away.

He nods. “All right.”

You stand there for a moment watching him, only moving because someone behind you meekly says _Excuse me_ and you stand to the side with a roll of your eyes you’re not entirely sure they caught but not caring if they did. A boy with bright red hair is the one who’d spoken, and he gives you a timid smile, though it looks more like a cringe if anything. He’s followed by his two companions, who flash polite grins that are more relaxed.

After they’ve passed, you open the door to the cabin on your left but don’t step inside, merely poking your head in. All conversation stops as you do. Poppy’s already looking at you, having noticed you and Draco kissing right outside thirty seconds ago. Good.

“I hope you have a good summer, Poppy,” you begin. “And thanks for the idea, by the way. You’re right: it adds a lot.” You point to the small tiara sitting on your head, crystals gleaming from the light of the sun pouring in from the window.

You’d found it on a visit to Hogsmeade and bought it right away, and Draco had been highly amused (as well as unaware of your true reason for its acquisition). You had it stored away since then, and donned it for the first time today, because though you wore the name of princess with pride, you weren’t so impudent as to wear it regularly. An accessory of this sort is to be saved for certain occasions. Hardly appropriate for everyday wear (and not to mention bad taste to do so).

You smile charmingly, seeming so genuine that if anyone in this cabin had been unfamiliar with her disdain for you, they’d ask how she could hate you as much as she does. Not bothering to wait for a response, you back out and let the door slide closed on its own as you begin your search for Draco.

When you find him, he asks what you were up to, and you wave your hand dismissively. _Nothing. Don’t worry about it._ Then you kiss his cheek, a gesture of reassurance. He lets the matter go with a small smirk and a nod. The flash in your eyes is sinister and it’s what he likes to see, and while a part of him would like to know what you were doing, he’s content with just knowing you were stirring up some trouble.

“Maybe I should get a crown to match?” he muses, briefly glancing up at your tiara.

You laugh. “Maybe we’ll find one over the holidays.” That signals the end of the subject, and as the train departs the station, the two of you busy yourselves with trying to decide which sweets to buy off the cart.


End file.
